O Brawling Love, O Loving Hate
by NoodlesandPie
Summary: "You couldn't save your boyfriend in the war, so now you have a saviour complex the size of a small country, and a severe case of PTSD." Tony and Steve fight. A short fic. (Please excuse the Shakespeare inspired title.)


**Authors Notes: So I wrote this after what feels like years of writers block. I'm sorry I haven't written any fics in a while, I've had my exams and stuff. I had to write this because I get a perverse sense of satisfaction when these two fight, and I need practice at writing action scenes because I'm really crap at them (so please excuse me if this isn't my best piece of writing ever). Both Steve and Tony had to act like total assholes for this fic to work, so please put it down to the fact that they are tired and guilty and not that this is bad characterization.**

**Word Count: 1796**

**Warnings: A lot of swearing, a sex mention, and a lot of violence.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I am just borrowing them for my own amusement.**

"You ass." Steve shouldered his way into the gym, his whole frame shaking with supressed rage.

"What?" Tony turned away from the punch bag he had been pouring his frustration into, a little breathless.

"I said, you ASS." Steve was about three feet away from Tony, fists clenched, and Tony could practically feel the waves of anger rolling off him. Steve looked like he was barely keeping himself in control, holding himself back with his own willpower.

"What the fuck?" Tony took a step forward, glowering. He was angry and tired and caffeine deprived and every muscle in his body hurt, and Steve could not have _possibly_ picked a worse time.

"You disobeyed a direct order." Steve bit out, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Tony felt anger rise in his throat like bile. They were both shaken up and exhausted, and it made them want to smash things. Preferably each other.

"Yeah, an order that would have got all those people killed!" Tony snarled. He felt guilty. But not so guilty that he would let Steve walk all over him, spitting poison. _It wasn't his fucking fault._

"WE COULD HAVE PULLED IT OFF!" Steve screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. Tony almost growled. A real, honest to god, growl.

"NO WE FUCKING COULDN'T! It was a choice, that girl or over thirty people, and YOU didn't have the balls to make the decision!"

It had been a mission, gone haywire almost as soon as it started. Eventually, the team was left with a choice. And Steve couldn't choose between the lives of thirty middle-aged office workers, and a young girl. So Tony had to choose for him. It was horrible and dirty and went against everything Tony stood for, but it had to be done. Even if it made him want to rip his own skin off.

Steve took a step closer, but stopped himself from going any further. He was holding himself back, forever mindful of his own strength.

"It wasn't a decision I _had_ to make! We could have saved them all."

Tony moved closer to Steve, until they were almost nose to nose. Steve glared down at him, and Tony resisted the urge to uppercut him. That wouldn't solve anything, and Tony would probably just break his hands in the process.

"We couldn't and you know it. Its tough, I know, but you cant save everyone." Tony forced out, in a last ditch attempt to be understanding.

"I know that, Tony." Steve spit his name out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "But we could have saved them. You were just too self centred and arrogant to accept that someone else might be right for once! Howard raised you better."

And that was it. Tony snapped. Rage boiled within him like lava, and he wasn't going to hold it back, he wasn't going to hold _anything_ back. Steve sure hadn't. His eyes flashed, lips curling up in a twisted imitation of a smile.

"Oh, and you think you're so much better, buddy boy? You're so caught up in your own self-righteousness you can't see what's right in front of you. What needs to be done!" He punctuated each sentence with a poke, right in the centre of Steve's chest. "You're a crappy leader, and an even crappier hero."

Steve felt like he had been punched in the gut, like Tony had replaced his blood with bleach. It was even worse because those were the words he had been repeating to himself over and over again, just for different reasons.

"Shut the fuck up, Stark." He managed to choke out, thrumming with anger.

Tony could see him quivering, like Clint's bow just before he let an arrow fly. With almost scientific detachment, Tony wondered what would happen if he pushed Steve just that little bit more.

"Cursing now, are we? Finally caught up to the twenty first century?" Steve made a move towards him, and Tony danced out of his reach, arms stretched wide, mocking Steve. He was almost hysterical, smiling widely at him, teeth bared. He was going to open every wound he had, and make a few new ones while he was at it. He was so fucking _angry_. "Oh, I get it, I do! You couldn't save your boyfriend in the war, so now you have a saviour complex the size of a small country, and a severe case of PTSD. It's okay, Steve, we're here for you-"

Steve had his hands fisted in Tony's shirt, knocking him back against the wall, looming over him. Tony felt his throat go dry. He went still. Steve's face was so _white._

"He wasn't my boyfriend."

"You sure about that? Cause I heard he was sucking your dick so he could move up in the ranks."

The punch was so sudden, Tony didn't realize it was coming before it had already happened. He had no time to brace himself before there was a super-powered fist ramming into his stomach. His soft grunt of pain was the only indication that he had been hurt; Steve's hands in his shirt stopped him from hunching over in agony. He raised his hands to try and protect himself, pushing on Steve's shoulders, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

"Oh, you've let the side down! Americas Golden Boy can't be seen punching a friend." Tony knew there wasn't a snowballs chance in hell that he was going to beat Steve in a physical, fist to fist fight, not without the suit, so he responded with a heavy dollop of snark. And a carefully placed knee to the groin, which had Steve groaning and doubling over. Even so, he didn't let go of Tony.

"You're not my friend. We were never friends, and we never will be." As if to prove the point, Steve hit him across the face. Tony knew Steve was holding back, he could kill Tony with his pinkie finger, but he could still hear something crack, and he bet it was his nose breaking. He could feel blood, hot and wet, run over his lips and drip off his chin, drops of red blooming like roses on his shirt and Steve's skin.

"Oh, Bucky would be disappointed, the way you're acting, Stevie-boy."

For a second, Steve just looked at him, shock wiping away the rage on his face. And that's how Tony knew he had gone too far.

Steve threw him across the room so hard a rack of weights collapsed under him, sending him sprawling on the floor, arms and legs askew. Steve was speaking so quietly, Tony could hardly hear him over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

"Don't say that. Don't say his name like that. Don't even think it." And there were tears in Steve's eyes, and it made Tony want to smash his face in. How dare he make Tony feel guilty. Not when his head was pounding and he thought he had a sprained wrist.

_Right. _Tony decided._ Shit just got serious._ He struggled to his feet, wincing. Steve stood and watched him, chest heaving with excursion and anger, face flushed, eyes dark.

"Jarvis? I need the suit." And then it was in the gym, with them, pieces of metal soaring towards Tony, fast and fluid, like iron birds. Steve stood solid and stoic in the middle of all the controlled chaos, still as a lighthouse in a storm. Tony, for a small moment, one beat of his heart, forgot his anger, and thought the image was beautiful in its fury. Then the suit was on and the moment was broken.

Tony threw himself forwards, arms out in a parody of a hug, slamming his body into Steve's so ferociously that Steve lost his balance and fell. They hit the floor with a thump, a tangle of legs and arms. With a curse, Steve flipped them both over, and smashed Tony down onto the ground. Tony felt all the air in his lungs being knocked out of him. He quickly brought his hand up and began to fire up his repulsors, panting. Steve's eyes widened at the soft whirring sound, and then he was off Tony, rolling to the left, just in time, as the blast hit the ceiling, sparks falling like rain on the two of them.

They both jumped up onto their feet so fast, it made Tony dizzy. Or that might be the concussion. Imitating Tony, Steve threw himself forward, only to be left grasping at air as Tony shot upwards, hovering above him as Steve skidded across the floor. Tony started laughing, a high, desperate sound, as Steve jumped to his feet, not letting the minor defeat sway him. Tony meant for the laughter to annoy Steve (and because if he didn't laugh he thought he might cry), but he seemed to have tuned everything out, existing only in the sound bodies smashing together and fists on skin.

Steve was moving forward, and Tony wondered which one of them was more machine right then, as he hovered further away. Then Steve's arm shot out like a snake striking and he had Tony's ankle and he was dragging him down and ramming his fist into the helmet of the suit and Tony could hear the metal creaking and felt fire explode across his right cheekbone and then Steve was yelling. And then he wasn't. And that was even worse.

"She was nine years old, Tony! Nine years old!" Steve let go of Tony, collapsing onto his knees. Tony stood awkwardly to the side, not sure whether to comfort him, or kick him while he was down. But that was a bit of a dick move, even for Tony, so he crouched down next to Steve, just as he started to speak again.

"I spoke to the family. They blame me, of course. I would." He sounded broken. Not upset or angry or even shocked. Just numb and broken and empty. It made Tony feel empty too, like Steve had carved out all his insides.

"It wasn't your fault, Cap."

Steve's eyes flashed. "Don't bullshit me." He snarled. But then he seemed to collapse back in on himself, not having the energy or will to sustain his anger. He dragged a hand across his face, smearing blood across his face. He looked down at his hand, like he was surprised that he was bleeding.

"I'm sorry, you know. For all of it." Tony squeezed out past the constriction in his chest, past the hammering of his heart.

"Me too." Steve breathed.

There was something to be said about anger, that it could turn two men into such animals, such machines. Some might say it was a little like love.

**Cuz they're in love. That's what I was trying to say here. The ending is too cheesy and I will own up to that.**

**Please leave a review, even if it's to tell me that I should never write action again.**


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